Paper Lanterns
by of-Quills-and-Parchment
Summary: How can their love exist when their society has no word for it? In the decadent brothels of the Hanamachi, their story proves that anything is possible, if you set your heart to it. Contains Yaoi and Het pairings.


Hello everyone! I've been following Slam Dunk since I was really really young, but only felt the urge to write fanfiction now! Anyway, this is my first Slam Dunk fic, so please let me know what you think! And I would love any construction criticism to help me improve, so please give me feedback! Thank you for reading!

On another point, this story is set in a historical context, but I'm not exactly trying to write a history essay, so I haven't bothered too much in setting it in any REAL period of time or anything, because that would involve too much detail that I don't think I can include skilfully enough. Let me know if you think I should change anything, or if any inconsistencies reallllyyy grate of the chalkboard of your life! Thank you once again!

Disclaimer: Slam Dunk and its characters do not belong to me.

Pairings: SenRu, MitKo, MakiJinKiyota, HanagataFuji, HanaHaruko, and possibly anything you might want to see included. Mind you, my OTP is SenRu, so I won't compromise on that, but if you want me to write in another particular pairing, I'll do it quite happily (as long as it doesn't split my OTP up):P

**Paper Lanterns: **

Prologue: Red Snow

This is a love story.

It begins, perhaps, not where most love stories would begin. There is no "once upon a time" for them, no "happily ever after" either. But this is not a normal love story, adorned with innocence and romance. Still, it has its own heroes, its own beauties, its own fair share of villains.

Most of all, it has passion.

In the colourful "Floating World", love is but an art, much like an exquisite painting of a geisha, the slender curve of her snowy neck framed by graceful folds of kimono. The emotion is as transient as the fleeting whispers of ardent lovers by candlelight, as artificial as the slight upturning of cherry lips from prostitutes.

The reader may ask at this point, what kind of love could blossom in a place where morals are forgotten in the face of hedonism?

Perhaps it is a cold, bitter love, filled with jealousy and carnal desires?

That it is, partly, for they did, after all, sell their bodies for a living, painting over their flaws with chalky powder and staining their lips an appealing red.

But more so, the notion of love is so unorthodox, so unthinkable in their line of work, that it becomes forbidden, a sacrilege to the temple of pleasures, inducing mockery and scorn from the faithful worshipers of the water trade.

It is a strong love, the flame burning calmly, such that candles in the wind bend and snap, only to crackle on merrily when the wind is long gone.

It is the love of the men who lived in the "Momiji", the most celebrated brothel in the entire Hanamachi.

Let us unravel the strings of fate that tie these men inextricably together, amidst the silvery wisps of incense smoke that dance along in the flickering union of shadows and warm candlelight…

* * *

Dozing in the cold, frigid winter sunlight, the Hanamachi is pale, listless, unremarkably normal. It is noisy, but not with the sweet cacophony of melodious voices, trained to express natural delight at their eager customers. Instead of the fine-looking creatures of the "Floating World", maids in their dull-coloured kimonos (muddy brown or stone grey) rushed back and forth, setting up arrangements for their beautiful owners, or returning messages and receiving trinkets. Errand boys clattered up and down in their sandals, anxious to complete their work so that they may be allowed to hide behind the garden doors and peer in to admire the wondrous loveliness that transformed the place at night. 

And as on cue, the pale morning light soon ripened to a golden glow that illuminated the entire water district. As the sun grew larger on the horizon, the sky burst into flames, with deep violet clouds and hues of azure.

The metamorphosis began.

As the azure darkens into a glorious ebony, the faintest shimmering of stars decorates the night sky modestly. It is then, that candle after candle light up simultaneously across the entire Hanamachi, like fiery flowers to path the way to beauty. Subtle, faint whiffs of incense soon permeate the chilly night air, sandalwood, lavender, rose.

Soon, love in all forms of delicate beauty can be found. Men flock to this brothel, or that teahouse, flirtatious conversation bubbled in the atmosphere; the mistress of this okiya did this and that belle from that brothel did that…

Outside each teahouse and brothel, a large crowd of customers could be found. None, however, could boast of popularity as the "Momiji" could.

The brothel had its own exquisite oriental garden, and every evening, it was crowded full with men, hoping for a tea ceremony with one of the lovely fairies that catered to their every whim, or to catch even the barest glance of one of the four blossoms of the Garden.

In the Hanamachi, no prostitute of the "Floating World" was worth as much as they were, nor half as sought after.

Their rooms, each personalised according to their own delight, were on the highest floor of the grand estate, where the corridors smelt most strongly of incense, such that the ghostly smoke weaved through the air, dizzying and intoxicating with the fragrant exotic smells. Through the darkness, four lanterns were lit at the entrance, each with the kanji of its unearthly occupant's name painted on it with inky black calligraphy.

The first of the rooms belonged to 'Spring', symbolising the beginning. Haru, as the customers were wont to breathe out adoringly, was the most amiable of the four, his beauty deriving strongly from his warm hazel eyes, and stunning smile that could pull a man from the dead of winter and plunge him back into the golden sunlight. He was always decked out in the most colourful and elaborate of kimonos, much resembling the vibrancy and splendour of a garden in the midst of spring. His room too was much like his character; always bright, and splashed with colour from the various trinkets he used as decoration; here a fan the colour of sakura, there a Kabuki mask, of vivacious purple.

Moving along through the maze-like corridors, the next room that highly select patrons are wont to come across was the room of 'Moon', and one could smell the faint scent of jasmine hovering at the entrance. Tsuki, the men said, and laughed indulgently. The one who would flirt with them, rose-bud lips promising a good time, yet vanishing a second later, stealing their hearts and their souls, leaving men with nothing but their painful desires and a cooling cup of tea. Fine strands of hair, the colour of nutmeg, fell into emerald eyes, and the splendid pale radiance of his face, was what earned him his name. His kimono, always loosened to display a smooth creamy nape, was often forest green or midnight blue, with willows or rivers at the hem. He also wore it long, flowing, such that it rippled as he glided gracefully, like the currents following a river.

The next room had a rosy glow to it, and the lantern bore the fitting name of 'Autumn'. 'Aki', they would murmur, the one with that delightful soothing voice, and onyx eyes that twinkled in their spheres. He was slender, elegantly tall, and had carried himself with such quiet refinement, crimson kimono trailing after him like maple leaves flowing after the wind. Cherry-like lips often curved upwards in a polite smile, and yet his manner remained distant and detached, the smile turning as warm as the scarlet cloths that draped across his entire room, especially as he glanced into the carmine depths of the candlelight, sable eyes burning with the reflecting of the vermilllion flames and that something more.

And finally, just before reaching the room deepest in, one was wont to hear the silvery rich tones from a shakuhachi or the sweet strains of the koto. The song was always one of chilly melancholy, and it is of no wonder then, that the lantern lighting up the room, where one weak flame could be seen to flicker faintly behind the shoji, carried the name of 'Snow'. Yuki, flitted the adoring whispers, as through flimsy veils and behind semi-lucid fans, men caught a glimpse of a stunning face, in all it's icy flawlessness. Hair the colour of ebony, eyes a sliver of frosty sapphire. Skin as supple and creamy as virgin snow, untainted, untouchable. He hid his flawless visage from the gaze of prying patrons, almost as jealously as he guarded his heart. In the dim light of one wavering flame, slender fingers ghosted over an ornate bamboo flute, ivory coloured kimono sleeves, as pure and as immaculate as his serene countenance, flowed gracefully across the tatami floors. There was always a hint of maple in the air, as though winter could not, try as it might, totally remove the glory of autumn from its wake, and when asked about it, he would give no reply but the shifting of those glorious eyes onto a sheathed katana, rather worn at the hilt.

Their story begins on a wintry evening, where the howling winds tore ferociously across the Hanamachi, threatening to extinguish even the brightest of candles.

* * *

The servant boy in the cream coloured yukata stood facing the lantern painted elegantly with the kanji for 'Snow'. He was there to deliver a message from the beautiful mistress of the brothel, Ayako-neesama, and yet he remained outside, unwilling to carry out his duties. 

No lantern light shone through the paper door; it was more than likely that Yuki-sama was still sleeping, and already, the patron was waiting impatiently downstairs, demanding that Yuki-sama receive him in the serving rooms for all to admire and envy.

_Oh God...Yuki-sama will need time to prepare himself, I really should wake him up and…yet…_

"Something wrong, Yasuda-kun?"

Yasuda spun around. The owner of that effeminate purr was leaning against the door of his room, fir green yukata sliding off one slender shoulder, before cascading past slim legs to pool on the tatami flooring beside dainty tabi-clad feet.

Yasuda felt his heartbeat quicken.

"N-nothing, Tsuki-sama, I just need to wake Yuki-sama up, he has a customer requesting for his presence downstairs."

Rose lips curved downwards slightly.

"Not many people can afford such a pleasure, nowadays."

"H-he's the son of a wealthy official, one that works for the Shogun."

"And he asked for Yuki specifically?"

"E-eh."

"Oh? I see. You may leave, I'll handle it from here."

"Ehh? But…but…Tsuki-sama…" Yasuda's voice trailed off as Tsuki glided smoothly across the hall to meet him. His every step taken was as elegant as a geisha's dance.

"Don't worry," Tsuki whispered reassuringly, his alluring lips curving into a tiny smile, "Yuki'll be there."

And with that, the graceful figure slid the shoji open and disappeared into the inky darkness.

Tsuki paused for a moment, and waited till Yasuda's footsteps died down the corridor, before he called out into the shadows, voice losing its gentle quality to one of calm seriousness.

"Kaede, I know you're awake."

At receiving no reply, he made his way unseeingly to the left corner of the room, and reaching into the folds of his kimono, withdrew a vial of rapeseed oil and proceeded to light the andon Yuki had placed there.

The instant the warm glow filled the room, shadows began dancing across all surfaces, flickering and flying, until they lost themselves in the shimmering oceans of Yuki's eyes, eyes that were watching Tsuki impassively.

"You were listening to the conversation I had with Yasuda-kun."

The eyes fluttered close slowly, and their owner turned his back towards Tsuki.

"Kaede." Tsuki's tone was stern, although slightly sympathetic.

"Hn." Kaede's back tensed, and Tsuki could read the frustration, the anger in his stance.

"I know you hate it when men try to display you, that's why you hide behind veils and fans, isn't it? I understand."

"Oh? You seem very fond of parading yourself."

Tsuki frowned at the cutting retort.

"I just accept my life, that's all," he answered, his voice freezing over slightly.

The lithe figure that was sprawled across the bed tantalisingly heaved a sigh, before rolling back to face his companion. In his seemingly wintry expression, Tsuki imagined that he could see a flicker of regret. He stepped over to the futon, lighting the ariake andon as well before proceeding to kneel down next to Yuki.

"You may be what you are, Kaede, but it doesn't mean you cannot carry yourself with dignity and pride."

Kaede glanced at him, undoubtedly noting the sincerity in his emerald orbs. He didn't say anything, however.

"It is hard reconciling this..this life you lead now with who you once were," Tsuki continued on, his eyes flickering briefly to the katana hanging in the corner, "but you can go downstairs with your chin held high. And despite being paraded like a prize on a pedestal, they cannot dishonour you."

Forests stood with unwavering confidence against the currents of the sea.

Finally, Kaede shifted his gaze. A pink flush blossomed slightly across his creamy complexion, and Tsuki concealed a smile skilfully behind his elegant sleeves to prevent from embarrassing his friend further.

"Idiot…" Kaede murmured hesitantly, "I don't need your encouragement." Tsuki's eyes softened almost imperceptibly; Kaede wasn't comfortable with expressing gratitude; that much he understood.

"Hai, hai. I'll just tell Ayako-neechan that you'll be down in a while, alright? And I'll send someone to help with your kimono?"

A slight nod.

Tsuki rose elegantly, much like a deity rising from the greenish depths of the sea, robes trailing behind him as he glided towards the door.

Halfway through it, he was stopped again by Kaede's soft, melodious voice.

"Kenji."

A breathtaking smile.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Kaede," he replied warmly, before sliding the door shut.

* * *

The lower floors of the brothel were teeming with people, anxious to stay inside due to the vicious storm, and yet, a respectful path was quickly cleared aside for stunning beauty. Kenji kept his eyes lowered demurely on the clean tatami flooring, as he hurried steadily along the corridors to where Ayako was currently entertaining Kaede's patron. A playful smile hovered on his lips, however, and men tripped over themselves to keep him in sight. He bit back a derisive peal of laughter, and knelt down in front of the serving room that Ayako was in. 

"Please excuse my interruption." Keeping his tone calm and docile, Kenji called out politely with his bell-like voice.

"Come right in," Ayako replied, her voice smooth apart from the slight strain that Kenji could detect, which was a sign of her impatience.

Sliding the door open, he sidled in and slid it shut slowly, before bowing low to their guest.

"Ah, finally!"

Without a warning, hands grabbed his waist roughly, and Kenji's head snapped upwards, emerald eyes mirroring his shock.

"Ah! Nobe-san! That's not Yuki!"

"Eh? You mean that there's another prettier one?"

Kenji's eyes hardened into green agates as he took in the mortifying sight of the man pawing at his arms.

Nobe was a gross mass of meat, bulging and swelling at the stomach and waist. His warm putrid breath was sour against Kenji's neck, and his greedy hands roamed covetously over Kenji's back, tugging at the kimono sharply. His eyes were hungry, carnal yearning burning in their depths.

"Nobe-san! Please let go of him! That's not Yuki-that's-"

Kenji struggled furiously, turning his head away from the monster before him. He could feel his kimono loosen further, displaying the beautifully striking golden nagajuban within. Summoning his entire strength, Kenji shoved the brute away roughly, and collapsed onto the floor. Ayako was immediately by his side, bravely placing herself between Nobe and her precious Tsuki.

"You've made a mistake, Nobe-sama," Kenji bit out harshly, "I'm not Yuki. I'm merely a messenger." Ayako turned to regard him. Apart from the dishevelled state of his kimono, Kenji looked as composed as ever in demeanour. His eyes, however, were as hard as adamantine.

They also bore into her accusingly.

"Kaede's on his way," he said bitterly, reining in his anger with great effort.

Ayako knew what Kenji was thinking. He was wondering how she could bear to throw their precious Kaede into the teeth of the beast. But she had no choice. Katou Yoshi, the greedy owner of the brothel, would rip her to pieces if she dared throw away such a prestigious client. Nobe had money, but even more so, he had status, and the power to tear down their business. It was a matter of survival.

And not everyone was as lucky as Kenji, when it came to patrons. Kaede just had to accept his fate.

The raucous noises on the corridor subsided into an awe-filled silence, and a split second later, the fusuma slid open.

"Ayako-neesan, Tsuki-san, Okyaku-sama," murmured a soft, caressing voice.

Kenji closed his eyes in dismay.

Ayako threw a glance at Nobe, and saw his eyes widen in lustful admiration. Kaede reached up with sylphlike fingers and drew the gauzy veil off his delicately alluring face.

"And so this is Yuki then." Nobe's voice trembled with poorly-suppressed desires, and disdainful disgust flickered across Kaede's icy features before blending back into stoicism.

Kaede bowed low, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickling in trepidation.

"Leave us, Ayako-san, Tsuki-san." The man could barely wait to pounce on the snowy beauty.

Kenji set his jaw stubbornly, but Ayako reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"Tsuki." Her tone calm but there was a hint of subtle warning, and Kenji knew that he had no choice but to leave.

The door slide shut; but Kenji didn't miss the slight trembling of Kaede's shoulders. It wasn't with fear. It was with utter revulsion.

Ignoring the fervent whispering and crowding around them, Kenji followed Ayako in stony silence, his heart thudding with dread. Finally, she stopped, confident footsteps faltering for once. Kenji halted a few paces behind her.

"I should have stayed behind with him. I should be supporting him."

"Don't be foolish, Kenji. Nobe would hurt you as well. You know very well what kind of man he is."

Emerald eyes flashed in fiery anger.

"And yet you left Kaede to him? To that _creature?_"

"I've no choice. You know that as well as he does!"

"When Katou bought your body, you sold your soul as well."

Blinded by rage and aggravation, Ayako reached out and slapped him harshly. Kenji remained unfazed, and continued with his provocation.

"He's just one man, Kaede could kill him easily, neesan, _you_ could kill him easily."

She rounded on him, his words fuelling her own frustration and helplessness.

"And then what? Have his entire clan tear us down tomorrow? Is that how you solve your problems, Kenji? By _killing?"_

Her enraged yelling rang loudly down the corridor.

Kenji did not reply. Instead, he was painfully aware of the grave silence surrounding them, apart from the crescendo of shouting coming from the room they had left not long ago. The clamorous breaking of china echoed through the entire house.

Their eyes met for an instant, horror reflected in both gazes, before mistress and prostitute rushed towards the noise.

* * *

"_Let go of me."_

Kaede's voice was frigid as he jerked out of Nobe's hungry arms, sweaty hands clutching greedily at his kimono, soiling its pristine pureness with his repulsive thoughts and actions.

"What are you being shy about, Yuki. This is what you're for, isn't it?" He ran a thick finger down Kaede's cheek, following closely with lips rough and scaly like snakeskin.

Anger coiled in the pit of Kaede's stomach. He knew that it was true; he was nothing more than a common whore now, where once he had been so much more. Once, he had come from a prestigious influential family, but that had been ripped away from him by the Shogun. Now, his sole purpose was to give utmost pleasure to men who could afford him, the rare commodity that he was.

It wasn't fair at all.

Kaede reached out and brushed Nobe's hand aside harshly, earning for himself a sharp backhand across his flawless face.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A PRETTY, DIRTY WHORE." Nobe's condescension rang loudly in Kaede's ears, but he turned his head aside, silently mocking the sickening man in front of him.

Nobe had had enough. Rapine hands shoved Kaede roughly onto the floor, causing his head to collide painfully with the edge of a table. In a furious rage, Nobe flung the teaset across the room. Kaede could hear the shattering of the ornate ceramic teacup, could see the brownish liquid splash across the scroll hanging in the alcove.

He struggled to sit up, the stifling trappings of his kimono and his light-headed dizziness rendering it an impossible task. Then, a large hand pinned him to the floor with brute force, whilst another roamed shamelessly over his body. He increased his frantic struggling, only to feel dry lips ravishing his neck, trailing tainted kisses up his jaw to claim his lips hungrily, with harsh possessiveness.

The repulsion rose within him as warm sour breath invading his mouth along with an assaulting tongue. Feeling bile rising at the back of his throat, Kaede broke the kiss with great difficulty. Gasping for breath, he thrashed violently against his oppressor. His soul seared with hatred and humiliation.

"_Let go!" _He shouted, repugnance etched into his normally emotionless mask. But his struggling was in vain. He could feel the folds of his kimono loosening, feel one grimy hand slide into the nagajuban to grope at his creamy skin.

Nobe sneered, his eyes triumphant.

"Scream," he bit out, "scream louder. I want to hear your voice, all pathetic, begging me to stop, maybe you could even cry…" His hoarse voice burned into Kaede's ears, as he licked and sucked eagerly at the creamy skin on Kaede's chest, leaving reddish marks all over.

Kaede closed his eyes, resigned. This wasn't the first time; submit, be pliant and it would soon be over.

_You aren't worth anything; you're nothing but a whore, the lowest in society, the dirtiest of the lot._

He could feel Nobe fumbling, feel something ram through him violently, feel his body tear at the invasion.

_Don't scream, don't give him that satisfaction. No one will save you anyway, no one will come. _

_You are nothing._

And then, the filthy touches ceased.

He heard Nobe's breath catch in surprise, heard the excited murmurings of the people on the corridor. Too caught up in rejecting the horror inflicted upon his body, he had barely registered the sounds of the fusuma sliding open quietly.

"Yare, yare. As dishonourable as ever, Nobe."

The newcomer's voice was husky and deep, with a sensual quality to it. Sardonic amusement dripped from his words…as well as a thinly concealed revulsion.

Eyes the colour of the sky flung open…

And stared into the deepest ocean blue.

The stranger's gaze softened temporarily as it met Kaede's emotionless eyes. The lazy smile tightened slightly with anger, anger towards the appalling creature that had no qualms about hurting something so beautiful, so fragile, so very helpless.

The keen edge of a silvery katana was pressed firmly against Nobe's jugular. Nobe was hovering closely over him, and Kaede could see beads of sweat forming on the man's brow, could hear the trembling of intolerable anger and repressed fear in the demon's voice, as he hoarsely whispered the intruder's name.

"S-Sendoh Akira."

* * *

And so, they meet.  Please help me out by providing me with constructive advice on how I should improve this! And did anyone manage to guess who the other two flowers of "Momiji" are? Eheheh. 

**Glossary:**

Hanamachi: Literally translates to "flower town". It is used to refer to the Japanese geisha and courtesan district.

Momiji: Another word for maple.

Shakuhachi: A Japanese end-blown flute.

Koto: Japanese stringed music instrument derived from Chinese Guqins.

Andon: A lamp consisting of paper stretched over a frame.

Ariake Andon: A bedside lamp.

Nagajuban: kimono-shaped robes worn by both men and women beneath the main outer garment.

Fusuma: Opaque vertical rectangles which can slide from side to side to redefine spaces within a room, or act as doors.

Shoji: Sheer, translucent, paper room dividers.

Okyaku-sama: Customer.

Tabi: Traditional Japanese socks that are ankle high with a separation between the big toe and the other toes.


End file.
